


Outlaws

by FlannelEpicurean



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Sex, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Not Underage, Smut, Suburbia, Teen Hannibal, Teen Will, Teenagers, Young Hannibal Lecter, Young Will Graham, they're 18 and up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlannelEpicurean/pseuds/FlannelEpicurean
Summary: 18-year-old Will Graham is facing the prospect of another dull and lonely summer break, until a beautiful young stranger comes to stay in the house next door. His name is Hannibal Lecter, and he's about to turn Will's world upside-down.





	1. Meeting

Will crosses the threshold into his room and drops his book bag to the floor. Tumbles onto the bed. Watches the clock, for want of anything better to do at the moment. 

Summer vacation. 

He should be happy, he supposes. Classes are over. He’s free from the inane dramas of his classmates for a few months. His eighteenth birthday has just passed. He’ll start work at the animal shelter in a few days. All reasons to be elated. But he can’t muster any enthusiasm. 

He wishes Alana hadn’t moved away. 

He pulls his phone from his pocket. Considers texting her. But a twinge in his gut stays his hand. Things had gotten so awkward between them, there at the end. And he hadn’t talked to her since. What would he say? How could he expect to simply pick back up now, after all this time? He heaves a sigh. Tosses his phone onto the bed. Closes his eyes.

He wakes at the sound of a light knock on the door frame. His mother, standing there smiling. “Welcome home!” she chirps. “Last day of school. How was it?”

Will shrugs. 

She rolls her eyes, still smiling, and comes over to sit on the bed.

“Sweetie,” she says, “you can’t mope around this summer. Not like you did last year.” 

“Mom, I’m not moping,” Will protests, rubbing his eyes. 

She sighs. “Well, whatever you call it, you can’t do it all summer. Come on,” she gives his leg a playful swat with the back of her hand. “Why don’t you take Winston out for a walk?”

Will sits up. “Okay,” he says, his tone guarded. Spending time with his dog is a panacea. Will knows his mother knows this. To seem too excited now would be as good as admitting that he was in a mood in the first place. He gets up from the bed, doesn’t pull away from his mother as she pats his shoulder. 

“Don’t be too long,” she calls after him; “it’s almost time for dinner.”

“Yeah,” Will answers, already headed down the stairs. He stops by the front door, pulls on his sneakers, grabs the dog’s leash from its hook. “Winston!” he calls. The dog comes bounding around the corner, dashes a quick circle around Will’s legs, then sits obediently while Will fastens the leash. “Okay, come on, boy.” 

Will pushes open the front door and steps out, lets Winston trot ahead a few paces, shuts the door behind him. They jog down the front steps, down the path across the lawn, out to the sidewalk. Will begins a brisk, steady pace that lets Winston not-quite-run. But instead of settling into the pace as he always does, the dog pulls up short with a little “woof.” Will looks down at his dog, puzzled, then up to where Winston is looking, ears pert. 

And there, standing in the driveway next door, is a young man Will has never seen before. 

He is all long, lean lines—chiseled cheekbones, shapely nose, graceful limbs and elegant hands. Will does not yet know enough to think of the young man’s clothes as exquisitely tailored; he only knows he feels shabby by comparison. The young man flicks a lock of sandy hair away from his face and turns his dark eyes on Will. 

He is beautiful. That is the only word Will can think of. Will’s mouth and hands go slack, and the leash slips from his fingers. 

Winston chooses that moment to become unruly, bounding toward the young man with typical canine joy. Will shoots out a hand, calling, “Winston! No!” and stumbles after the dog. 

The ghost of a smile plays across the beautiful stranger’s features as the dog spins a tight circle and then darts behind him. Will pulls up short, unwilling to push past the young man, unable to approach any closer for fear of...what? Breaching the zone of easy confidence surrounding this stranger? Stumbling in front of him? Encouraging Winston into further antics? Anxiety fills his mind with a thousand terrible scenarios, any one of which would cause him to die of shame. 

“Sorry,” Will stammers, unable to meet those dark eyes, “I’m sorry, he’s…” Winston yips excitedly from his place behind the young man and wags his tail. “He’s not normally like this,” Will apologizes, his face going bright red. 

The young man rotates a fraction and gives Winston a serene smile. “Will it encourage him to be bad if I pet him?” His voice is smooth, accented. Something European, Will thinks. His ear can’t place it. 

“Uh,” Will shakes his head a little, coming back to himself. “Uh, yeah, it’s better not to pet him when he’s acting up. It rewards the behavior.” 

The beautiful stranger turns back to Will. “Then I’ll refrain.” He steps to the side. Winston stays where he is, wagging his tail. 

“Winston,” Will calls, snapping his fingers. “Come on. Come here.” This time, the dog obeys, trotting over to Will’s side and looking up lovingly. Will shakes his head and takes up the leash again, firmly this time. Chances a peek over at the young man. “Sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s not a problem,” the young man says. Still standing there, completely unruffled. 

A silence spins out into the space between them, feeling awkward to Will, but clearly not bothering the beautiful stranger at all. 

“So,” the young man says. “You live here?” He inclines his head a few degrees, toward Will’s house. 

“I, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I live,” Will points over his shoulder at his house, kicking himself for sounding stupid.

The young man smiles. “Then we’ll be neighbors. For the summer, anyway.”

Will begins to feel dizzy. “Oh. You’re. You live here, too?”

He nods. “I’m staying with my aunt for the summer.” He nods to the house next to Will’s. To Ms. Murasaki’s house. The sweet Japanese lady who has lived next to Will ever since Alana’s family moved away.

“Your...aunt?” Will squints at the young man. Nothing about him looks Japanese. 

As if reading Will’s thoughts, the young man says, “Not by blood. But dear to me nonetheless.”

The way he talks is strange to Will, pleasantly so, out of reach in some way. Will knows the word _refined_ , but cannot seem to grasp it and hold it still when confronted with the personification of the concept. “Oh,” he says. _Stupid, stupid._

The beautiful stranger extends one elegant hand. “I’m Hannibal Lecter,” he says. 

Will can’t keep his hand from shaking a little; he hopes his palm is not too damp. “Will. Will Graham.” Winston gives a cheery little bark, as if by way of introducing himself. “Oh. And this is Winston.”

Hannibal nods. “Hello, Winston.”

Will suddenly realizes that he still has Hannibal’s hand in his grip. He fumbles away from the handshake and reaches down to scratch Winston behind the ear. Feeling soothed by the contact with his dog, he regains some composure and asks, “So you’re staying here for the summer? Where, uh. Where are you from?”

Hannibal’s mouth quirks. “From a boarding school that caters to wayward boys such as myself. We had a falling-out, and it was decided that I should spend some time away, reflecting on my crimes.”

Like a book, Will thinks. He talks like a book. And this tidbit he’s just tossed out—is this sketch of an adventure story true? Or is he teasing Will? 

Before he can ask anything further, the shrill voice of his little sister hollers out from the front door, “Will! Mom says come in for dinner!”

“I’ll be right there, Abby!” Will shouts back, annoyed. To Hannibal he says, “Sorry, I gotta go.”

Hannibal nods his permission. “Until next time, then.”

“C’mon, Winston,” Will says. He and the dog trot back to the front door. Will opens the door and lets Winston in, then turns back for just a moment, for just one more glimpse at the beautiful young man next door. But the driveway is empty already. 

“Will,” Abby says, snapping him back to reality. “Mom says close the door, you’ll let bugs in.”

“I’m not,” Will begins to argue. Shakes his head. Steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him. Abby has lost interest in him and gone into the dining room, where she has begun to regale their parents with stories of the last day of school, and of her impending bright future at camp after camp for the duration of the summer. Will drifts in after her and takes his place at the table. His parents smile acknowledgement of his presence, but don’t interrupt his little sister, even as they begin to serve out the food. 

Will fills his plate. Begins slowly eating. Nods when he’s supposed to. Answers when he’s spoken to. Lets Abby take the spotlight, as he so often does. Sits patiently through the meal. Helps his mother put away the leftovers and get the dishes into the dishwasher, much to her delight. Leaves the kitchen and climbs the stairs, stalks down the hall to his bedroom. Closes the door. Stands in a shaft of evening light. 

Thinks, _Hannibal._

\--------

The next afternoon, the doorbell sounds just as Will passes by on his way to the kitchen. He stops short, surprised. Steps to the door and opens it. Stands rooted to the spot, dumbstruck. 

“Hello,” Hannibal says.

“Hi,” Will stammers.

“May I come in?”

“Um, sure.” Will opens the door wide, steps back. Hannibal glides in, stands just a foot or two beyond Will, not presuming to go any further into Will’s home.

“Our meeting yesterday was so brief, I thought I would come and make a more proper introduction.”

“Oh,” Will says. “Okay.”

Will’s mother appears from around the corner, calling, “Will? Who’s at the door?” She stops short when she sees Hannibal. “Oh. Who’s this?”

“Mom, this is Hannibal,” Will answers. “He’s staying next door this summer.”

Hannibal extends his hand, and Will’s mother takes it. Hannibal bows slightly as he shakes her hand. “Hannibal Lecter,” he elaborates. “You must be Mrs. Graham.”

“Yes,” Will’s mother says, giving Hannibal a charmed smile. “You’re staying with Ms. Murasaki?”

Hannibal nods, withdraws his hand. “You might call her my aunt; she was instrumental in raising me, and we have a very close bond. I’m on holiday from university, so we’ve arranged that I shall spend the summer here.” He gestures to Will. “Your son and I met yesterday evening, by way of Winston.”

“Oh, how nice,” Mrs. Graham beams.

Will ducks his head. “Well, actually, Winston was being kind of bad,” he admits. “He...got away from me and ran up to Hannibal.”

“He didn’t jump on you or anything, did he?” Mrs. Graham asks, aghast.

Hannibal shakes his head. “He caused me no distress, Mrs. Graham. On the contrary, I will admit I found him somewhat amusing.” He gives a slight smile. “Though I fear that was at Will’s expense.”

“Well, so long as you’re all right.”

“Perfectly fine,” Hannibal affirms.

Mrs. Graham cocks her head. “We’re about to start lunch. Do you want to join us? So we can welcome you to the neighborhood properly?”

Hannibal smiles. “I would enjoy that very much, thank you.”

Mrs. Graham turns toward the kitchen, beckoning for the boys to follow. “Come on in,” she invites. “Oh. Hannibal, are you vegetarian or anything?”

“I am a happy omnivore, Mrs. Graham,” Hannibal answers. “May I be of any help in preparing?”

Mrs. Graham turns her charmed smile on him again. “How thoughtful of you! Can I put you and Will in charge of the salad?”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers.

“Sure,” Will agrees. 

\--------

Will can’t keep his eyes off of Hannibal, all during lunch. Hannibal’s movements are so elegant, his voice so refined as he regales Will’s family with tales of his pre-medicine studies in Europe (putting the lie to his earlier claim of a boarding school for wayward boys—Will feels foolish now for having considered it even a candidate for the truth), of his travels, of his utterly fantastic-sounding life.

And Hannibal eats like some kind of graceful bird, taking perfectly-sized bites and chewing almost daintily, never speaking with his mouth full. Will feels like a wild boar by comparison. He begins taking smaller bites of his food.

“So you’re essentially house-sitting?” Will’s father asks.

Hannibal gives a tiny nod. “You might call it that. My aunt will be traveling on business quite a lot, to be sure. But we will also see plenty of each other.” He smiles. “She is not abandoning me entirely.”

“Well,” Will’s mother suggests, “if you get lonely, maybe you and Will could hang out.”

Will almost drops his fork. “Uh, sure,” he agrees, and hopes his face has not gone too red.

Hannibal turns his gaze on Will, paralyzing him instantly. “I would like that very much.”

“Yeah, maybe Will could take you down to the animal shelter, too,” Will’s father adds. “If you like animals, that is. They’re always looking for volunteers. Something to do, if you’re interested.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Hannibal returns. To Will, “Perhaps we can make arrangements after lunch?”

Before Will can answer, Abby pipes up, “I’m going to riding camp.”

Hannibal turns to her, beaming. “Oh?”

Abby nods vigorously. “With real horses and everything.”

“Well, real _ponies_ , anyway,” Will’s father says.

“I would love to hear more, Abigail,” Hannibal invites.

“It’s Abby,” Abby corrects.

Her mother leans toward her. “Abby, don’t be rude.”

“What?” Abby protests.

“No offense taken,” Hannibal assures Mrs. Graham. “And none given, I hope. My apologies, Abby.”

“It’s okay,” she chirps.

The tension broken, Abby begins pouring out her hopes for what riding camp will be like. Hannibal listens intently, giving her the same attentive respect he has shown for her parents. Will watches, fascinated, and feels an unfamiliar emotion begin to blossom. He knows he wants to—has to—be friends with Hannibal, but there is something deeper. He wants Hannibal to approve of him, somehow. He wants desperately to please Hannibal, in any way he can.

When there is a lull in the conversation with Abby, Hannibal turns to Will. “We should exchange mobile numbers,” he suggests.

“Oh, um. Yeah.” Will pulls out his phone, managing not to fumble it too badly.

Hannibal presents an upturned hand. “May I?” Will gives over his phone, thrilling as his hand brushes Hannibal’s. Hannibal enters his information into Will’s phone and hands it back. “There,” he says with a slim smile, “now you will be able to reach me, and we can spend some more time together.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, “sounds great.” He looks down to his phone, texts Hannibal, _Hey it’s Will Graham._

Hannibal pulls a slender, clearly brand-new device from the inner pocket of his elegant jacket and spends a moment saving Will’s information. Gives Will another smile. “And now I will be able to reach you.” His keen gaze spears Will, makes him feel as though something else lurks behind those words, makes him think of razor-beaked birds and great, sharp-clawed cats.

A little shiver races up Will’s spine. He feels as though he’s just sold his soul, for something rich enough that he doesn’t mind being damned.


	2. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will spend some time together at a farmer's market and the park. Will's interest in Hannibal deepens.

Saturday breakfast in the Graham house is a lively affair. Will’s parents dance around each other in the kitchen, cooking as a team. Will’s father scrambles eggs and fries bacon while his mother cuts up fruit and brews coffee. They both keep an eye on the oven timer as the aroma of cinnamon rolls fills the whole house. Will keeps Abby and Winston entertained and out of the way. 

Will accepts a cup of coffee from his mother. Abby helps her set the table. The timer goes off, and Will’s father takes the cinnamon rolls from the oven. “All right,” he says, “let’s eat!” They take turns filling their plates, and take their places at the breakfast table. 

“Great job on the eggs, hon,” Will’s mother says, smiling at her husband. 

He mimes tipping a hat. “Thank you, thank you. And my compliments on the fruit salad.” 

Will’s mother holds up a finger. “Mm. Speaking of fruit salad, we should go to the farmer’s market today. We’re out of strawberries.”

Will’s father nods his agreement. “And we should see about some eggs while we’re there. How ‘bout it, kids? Who’s up for a trip to the market?”

“Ooh, me!” Abby raises her hand high. “Can we get peach ice cream?”

“I second that,” Will’s mother says. 

“Done and done.” Will’s father turns to him and asks, “Any special requests?”

Will shrugs, his mouth full of cinnamon roll. 

“Oh,” his mother places her hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you see if Hannibal wants to come?”

Will nearly chokes, but manages to retain his composure and simply nod. He begins to pull his phone out of his pocket, but his father gives him a mock-serious look. 

“Remember the rules? No devices at the table.”

Will rolls his eyes a little, but shoves his phone back in his pocket. Snags another cinnamon roll. 

When the breakfast dishes are cleared, Will retreats to his room. His heart gives a ticklish flutter as he stares at Hannibal’s number. His thumb hovers over the call icon, then taps the message icon instead. Phone calls are awkward enough for him under the best circumstances. He doesn’t trust himself to speak to the beautiful young man next door without stumbling over his words. 

_Hey Hannibal it’s Will_ , he texts. Puts his phone down on the bed, his heart hammering, and gets up to change out of his pajamas. Just as he shrugs out of his tee shirt, his phone pings. He picks it up with trembling fingers. 

_Good morning, Will._

Will runs a hand through his hair. Considers how to answer; composes a dozen responses in his head, rejects them. He licks his lips. Decides to go with simple and direct. _We’re going to the farmers market u want to come with?_

A few seconds later, _When will you be leaving for the market?_

Will thinks through his family’s morning preparations. Showers, dressing, walking Winston. _Abt 1 hour._

_I would be glad to accompany you. Shall I meet you at your house?_

Will flushes, his mouth quirking into a nervous half-smile. Even over text, Hannibal is unfailingly genteel. He sends back, _Great. Yes, you can come here_ , instead of his usual, _Yeah._

_Then I will see you soon._

Will texts back, _OK._ Murmurs to himself, “See you soon.”

\--------

The morning is already hot when Will gets Winston out for his walk; by the time he returns, he is dripping with sweat, and more than ready for his turn in the shower. Once he is clean and refreshed, he returns to his room to face, for perhaps the first time, the dilemma of what to wear. His small inventory of tee shirts, cargo shorts, sneakers, and sandals works fine for lazing about, or walking the dog, or for his days at the animal shelter. But having seen even a few pieces of Hannibal’s wardrobe, he can’t bear the thought of looking like a slob in front of him. He peers into his closet and sighs at his one pair of tan dress slacks, his one white button-down shirt, the brown dress shoes that seem clunky to him now. The brown blazer his parents have been meaning to replace since he’s grown a bit more, but that they’ve thus far failed to convince Will to go shopping for. 

He thinks of asking to borrow one of his father’s nicer shirts, but dismisses the notion out of hand. Such a request will give rise to questions he can’t answer. He snags a tee shirt and a pair of shorts from the closet, tells himself it will have to do. 

Hannibal, of course, shows up at their doorstep in a light blue button-down and creamy-tan jacket, paired with slim-fitting coral shorts and supple leather boat shoes, carrying a wicker produce basket. Looking like he should be sailing in the Mediterranean, not traipsing around a farmer’s market. But Will supposes this must be Hannibal’s definition of casual. 

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal says with a sunny smile. 

Will returns a lopsided grin. “Hey.” 

Will’s family all show up at the door just then, bearing their canvas shopping sacks, eager to get moving. They pause to greet Hannibal warmly, then sweep him up in the happy maelstrom, all heading for the car. He joins them with ease, settling into their pace as though he is one of them, bundling into the back seat with Abby and Will. 

“Everybody in?” Will’s father calls from the driver’s seat. Receiving answers in the affirmative, he puts the car in gear. “All right, we’re off!”

\--------

“All right. I’m looking for eggs.” Mr. Graham points to Mrs. Graham, “You wanted strawberries.” 

She nods. “And let’s check for bread while we’re here. That challah we got last time was just great.”

“Strawberries and challah it is.” 

Abby reminds them, “And peach ice cream.”

“And peach ice cream,” Mrs. Graham agrees. 

“We’ll finish up with that,” Mr. Graham says. Turns to Hannibal. “What’s on your list for today?”

Hannibal pulls a neatly-folded slip of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket. “I would like to purchase a variety of herbs, and some seasonal fruits. Perhaps some flowers, if they are available. But I am mainly here to explore.” 

“This is a great place to explore,” Will’s mother says. “D’you prefer to fly solo, or do you want some company?”

“I would enjoy some company,” Hannibal answers. He turns to Will. “Perhaps if Will doesn’t mind?”

“Yeah,” Will says, mesmerized by Hannibal’s gaze. “Sure.”

Mr. Graham checks his watch. “Okay. If we don’t run into each other before then, let’s meet at the back entrance at eleven. That’ll give us all plenty of time to wander, and we can grab ice cream before they close.” He sweeps an arm toward the front entrance of the large building that houses the indoor portion of the market. “Shall we?”

\--------

Will follows Hannibal from stall to stall, watching shyly as Hannibal takes in the offerings of the market with subtle delight. He examines bunches of herbs, turning them over in his hands. Takes a vendor up on the offer to pinch off and crush a leaf of basil, to experience its full aromatic glory. He consumes the leaf afterward, and chats about details of soil, and sun, and water, impressing the vendor with his sussing out of the plant’s growing conditions. He tests a few more herbs, and ultimately purchases bunches of fresh basil, rosemary, oregano, and thyme. 

They wander aimlessly, following the flow and bustle of the crowd, pausing now and then for Hannibal to admire or inspect various and sundry items. He lifts a jar of honey, basks in the amber light that filters through it, peers at the comb inside. Charms the beekeeper with his remarks on the sacred geometry of honeycombs. Purchases the jar and adds it to his basket. Returns the beekeeper’s, “Namaste,” as they part.

He passes by several vendors of fruits, glancing briefly at their offerings, before settling at a great mound of peaches. Hannibal picks up a peach with his delicate fingers, takes in the brilliant golden yellow and blush red of its lightly-fuzzed skin, gives it a gentle squeeze. Brings it closer to his face and inhales its scent. Nods to himself and places the fruit in his basket. Chooses five more with the same care. He pays for the fruit and heads for a stand with a variety of plums, moving with balletic grace through the crowd. Will lumbers after him, mumbling, “‘Scuse me, sorry,” as he inevitably bumps against other shoppers. 

When Will catches up, Hannibal smiles and hands him a red plum. “Do you know how to tell if a plum is ripe, Will?” he asks. 

“Uh,” Will says, “no, not really.” 

“Then I will show you,” Hannibal offers. “First, you must feel it. Like this.” He puts his hand over Will’s, and a hot shiver runs up Will’s body from his navel to his throat. Hannibal’s fingertips guide Will’s, pressing them lightly against the flesh of the fruit. “Feel how it’s just a little soft? It yields to the touch slightly, but is firm beneath.” 

Will nods, unable to speak. 

“That is one sign that we have chosen a good plum,” Hannibal goes on, completely unfazed by the contact. “Now,” he says, his eyes still on the fruit, “we take in the scent.” He lifts Will’s hand slowly, bringing the plum within a few inches of Will’s nose, and leans in himself. 

Blood rushes into Will’s face. Hannibal is so close, he worries people might think they’re kissing, right there in the middle of the market. A secret part of him screams, insanely, for him to close the gap between them, consequences be damned. Let the entire market watch. 

Hannibal breathes in deeply, his eyes closed, then exhales. Opens his eyes and looks into Will’s. “Do you smell that?” he asks. “Lightly sweet,” he says, “but with a full-bodied roundness to it. Just like this plum, the scent is full of sun and summer.” He takes his hand away from Will’s and plucks the fruit from his palm. “That is another sign that we have chosen a good plum. And just look at it.” He holds it up, turns it back and forth like a jeweler showing a diamond. “A very pretty blush, don’t you think?”

Will wipes absently at his fever-hot cheek. “Yeah,” he stammers. “It’s...that’s a good-looking plum.” He frowns inwardly. _Why say something so stupid?_

“I think we will take this one,” Hannibal declares. Then, “Will you help me choose some more?”

“Um, sure. Yeah.” Will turns to the task, grateful to have an excuse to tear his eyes away from Hannibal for a moment. He glances furtively around, but no one is watching them; no one seems to have seen the moment of strange intimacy that passed between them. Hannibal’s hand on his. His face so close. Will’s palms go damp, just thinking about it. He tries to concentrate on the fruit in front of him instead. He follows the steps Hannibal showed him, squeezing and scenting, and manages to find a couple of plums he thinks might pass muster. He turns to Hannibal. “Here,” he says, handing them over, “are these, um...what you’re looking for?”

Hannibal accepts them, turns them over in his hands, inhales their aroma, smiles at Will. “These are perfect, Will,” he answers. “Thank you.” He adds them to his basket and goes to the vendor to pay.

Will hears his little sister call his name from a few paces away and turns to find her leading her parents through the crowd. “Will,” she says again, “come on, we’re gonna get ice cream!”

Mrs. Graham gives her daughter’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Let’s wait for Hannibal.” 

Abby brightens when Hannibal appears next to Will. “Hannibal!” she chirps. “You wanna get ice cream with us?” 

Hannibal smiles down at her. “I would love to.”

Mr. Graham puts his arm around his wife and takes his daughter’s hand. “Well, off we go, then.”

Abby and her father get their ice cream in cones; Will, Hannibal, and Mrs. Graham opt for paper bowls and plastic spoons. Mr. Graham insists on paying for Hannibal’s, and he graciously accepts. The picnic tables next to the market building are all taken, so they eat while they stroll back to the car. 

“Did you get everything you were looking for?” Will’s father asks Hannibal. 

Hannibal nods. “I’m very impressed with what I’ve found today. This has been a lovely trip; thank you for inviting me.”

“Sure thing,” Will’s father says. “Happy to do it.”

That night, Will dreams of blushing red plums, of biting into the yielding flesh of a ripe fruit. Of Hannibal leaning in and biting into the other side. He tastes the sweet, sun-golden juice running down his throat, joins with Hannibal in consuming the fruit until there is nothing but a shining pit in his hand. Hannibal tosses the pit away and licks Will’s fingers clean. Looks up, his eyes burning red as hot coals, and says, “They’ll cast us out of Eden for this.”

Will jerks awake, drenched, his cock oak-hard and aching. He finishes himself off and lies there, sticky with sweat and semen, waiting for the dream to fade. 

\--------

Will looks up from the Sunday lunch dishes when the doorbell rings. He dries his hands hastily and heads for the entryway, only to have his mother materialize from around the corner, beating him to it.

Will’s mother opens the door, and there on the porch is Hannibal, holding a rectangular dish covered with an airy linen towel.

“Mrs. Graham. Will,” Hannibal greets them. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all, Hannibal,” Mrs. Graham beams. “Come in!”

“I’m afraid I cannot stay,” Hannibal apologizes, “but I’ve brought something, a small token of my appreciation for allowing me to tag along on your outing yesterday.” He hands over the dish, and Will watches as his mother lifts the towel. 

In the dish are twelve dainty, cupcake-shaped pastries, little creations of puffed dough with paper-thin slices of peach and plum shaped into roses atop them, all lightly dusted with powdered sugar. 

Will’s mother gasps when she sees them. Looks from the pastries to Hannibal’s face and back again. “Hannibal,” she exclaims, “these are beautiful!”

Hannibal gives her a slight little bow and says, “Thank you, Mrs. Graham. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed spending time with your family.”

“Well, we were glad to have you,” Mrs. Graham says, “and thank you for these.”

“Of course.” Hannibal nods. “Until next time.”

Mrs. Graham waves as Hannibal descends from the porch; he waves back and takes to the sidewalk, makes his way back to his aunt’s house. Mrs. Graham shuts the door and turns to Will with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let’s try these before Dad and Abby get home.”

Will follows her to the kitchen, where she places the dish on the counter and gets out two dessert plates. She uses a fork to gently lift two pastries from the dish and place them on the plates, then hands one to Will. He forgoes a fork, carefully picks up the delicate creation with his fingers and takes a bite. 

The flavor that springs into his mouth is bright and tangy, buttery, warm, cheery. He and his mother both let out an emphatic, “Mmm,” at the same time. 

Mrs. Graham’s expression is a mixture of disbelief and delight. “This is so good!” she says around a bite of pastry. 

Will nods his agreement. Swallows. “Like sun and summer,” he murmurs. 

Mrs. Graham cocks her head. “What, sweetie?”

Will looks up. “Something Hannibal said yesterday. Plums smell like sun and summer. I guess they taste like it, too.”

Mrs. Graham lays a hand on her chest. “That’s so poetic.” 

“Yeah.” Will takes another bite. 

His mother looks to the front door. “And he’s so...polite! And he can bake!” She shakes her head. “He is going to make some girl very happy one day.” She takes another bite of her pastry. “Or some boy.”

Will glances at her, but she’s not looking at him, thank goodness. 

\--------

A few days later, Will knocks on Hannibal’s door. Waits patiently until he hears footsteps on the stairs, then in the entryway. Shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other. 

Hannibal opens the door, lighting up when he sees Will standing there, holding the dish and towel Hannibal brought over with the pastries. “Will! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I, um,” Will offers up the dish and towel, “I brought your stuff back.” 

Hannibal accepts them with graceful hands. “Thank you.” He tilts his head to one side. “Would you like to come in?”

Will’s heart thumps. “Sure.” 

Hannibal steps aside and lets Will in. “You may leave your shoes by the door,” he says, gesturing to where his own polished brown loafers sit neatly.

“Right.” Will slips out of his sneakers. Sets them next to Hannibal’s shoes. 

“Would you care for a beverage?” Hannibal offers. 

“Yeah,” Will says, “I’d love one.”

Hannibal leads Will to the kitchen. Takes down two tall glasses from a cabinet. Opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bowl covered in plastic wrap, a fresh cucumber, and a bottle of club soda. The bowl is filled with colorful little balls that Will soon recognizes as pieces of melon—pale green honeydew, orange cantaloupe, and watermelon of a surprisingly deep red. Hannibal adds one ball of each melon to each of the glasses and turns to the cucumber. This he washes thoroughly, towels dry, and sets on a cutting board. He pulls a chef’s knife from a magnetic strip on the wall above the counter and uses it to cut thin slices from the center of the cucumber. He adds the slices to each glass, then wraps the remaining halves of the cucumber in plastic and returns them and the bowl of melon balls to the refrigerator. He looks up at Will. “Ice?” he asks. 

“Oh, um, sure,” Will answers. 

Hannibal nods. Takes an ice tray from the freezer and adds a few cubes to each glass. Tops them off with club soda. Hands one to Will. Picks up his own and offers it forward for a toast. 

Will touches his glass against Hannibal’s and takes a sip. The flavor is subtle, but bursting with cool freshness. It amplifies the fizzing water’s ability to quench Will’s thirst, to drive away the sticky heat of the outdoors. He takes a deeper swallow. Tells Hannibal, “This is great.”

Hannibal smiles over the rim of his glass. “It’s even better with gin,” he says. 

Will starts. “How do you…? You drink?”

Hannibal shrugs. “The legal drinking age is much higher in America than in many places.”

“Oh,” Will says. “Right.” He swirls the ice in his glass. Licks his lips. Gets down to the real reason he’s ventured next door. “So...I’m taking Winston to the park later. D’you...do you want to come? With me?”

Hannibal brightens. “An excursion to the park sounds lovely. Perhaps I’ll bring my supplies and make a few sketches while we’re there.”

Will raises a brow. “You draw?”

Hannibal inclines his head toward Will. “I do.” 

Will huffs out a little chuckle. “Is there anything you _can’t_ do?”

Hannibal takes another sip of his drink. “I have found many things that bring me enjoyment,” he says. “That makes it much easier to devote the necessary time to building the skill.”

Will nods down at his glass. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.” 

“So,” Hannibal returns to the original subject, “what time would you like to make our excursion?”

Will looks back up. “Oh, um, how about two?”

“Perfect.”

\--------

Will parks the car, lets Winston out of the back seat, and attaches his leash. As Hannibal gets out, toting his stylish messenger bag, Will checks over his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. Treats for Winston. And the most important thing—a tennis ball. With his supplies verified, he shuts the car doors and locks up.

Will leads the trio through the park and down to a fenced-in field with a sign posted notifying guests that dogs can be let off the leash in the area, and a list of rules. There are a few patrons there, engaged in various forms of play with their pets. Winston perks up. Will scratches him behind his ear. “That’s right,” he says, “we’re gonna go play in a minute. We gotta get Hannibal set up first.” 

Will looks up and finds Hannibal eyeing an empty park bench in a nicely shaded area nearby. “I think that will do,” Hannibal says, nodding toward the bench. He and Will amble over to it, and Hannibal takes a seat. Sets his bag down next to him and begins pulling out art supplies. Tan-toned paper, a flat board to lay it on. A canvas roll holding a selection of pencils and a carefully-capped utility knife. He selects a sheet of paper and a pencil. 

“You sure you don’t mind me, y’know, leaving you here?” Will asks. 

Hannibal smiles up at him. “I shall be perfectly content.”

“Okay,” Will says. “I’m just gonna,” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the field.

Hannibal nods. “Go have fun.”

With Hannibal ensconced on the bench, Will leads Winston toward the center of the field and lets him off the leash. Winston wags his tail and gives an excited little “woof,” clearly anticipating what comes next. 

Will puts Winston through a few basic commands— _sit, stay, roll over, up, shake_ —before pulling the tennis ball from his pocket. He holds the ball up for his dog to see. Winston bounds around him, eager to play, to chase, and Will can’t help but laugh. “You want it?” he encourages his dog. “You want the ball, boy?” Winston gives another “woof.” Will says, “Okay. Get ready…” Pulls his arm back. Throws the ball as far as he can, and watches with a goofy grin as his dog speeds off after it. Winston returns with the ball, and they have a quick game of “tug” before the dog relinquishes the ball and drops low, tail wagging furiously, waiting for the next throw. Will obliges. 

Between throws, Will sneaks glances at Hannibal. Finds him sometimes engrossed in his sketching, and sometimes watching Winston’s antics with an amused look on his face. Once or twice he makes eye contact with Will, and smiles. Will waves, and Hannibal waves back, pencil in hand. Will is grateful the sun and exertion have already brought a ruddy flush to his face; otherwise he would fear Hannibal seeing him blush. 

When Winston tuckers out, Will re-attaches his leash and returns to where Hannibal sits. “How’s the drawing coming?” he asks. 

Hannibal looks up. Turns his board around to reveal his work. “See for yourself.”

On the tawny sheet is a beautiful rendition of Will and Winston—Will posed with his arm cocked back, preparing to throw the ball, and Winston mid-turn, ready to race after it. Each stroke is lovingly rendered, each line confident and purposeful. Hannibal has caught their joy out of the air and sunlight and laid it on the page with his pencil.

Will stares at the drawing, mouth agape. “That’s...that’s incredible,” he says in a near-reverent tone. 

Hannibal smiles up at him. “Thank you. Would you like it?”

Will’s eyes flit to Hannibal’s. “Seriously?”

Hannibal nods. Holds the drawing out to Will. “Yes.” 

Will takes it gingerly, looks at it closer. Hannibal has used very little detail, capturing the essence of Will’s and Winston’s shapes in swaths of light and shadow, but it looks that much truer to the spirit of their play. “Incredible,” Will says again. He looks to Hannibal and asks, “Will you, y’know, hold onto it until we get back? I’m afraid I’ll mess it up.”

“Of course.” Hannibal accepts the drawing back from Will and stows it in the folio he’s brought. “You know,” he says, packing up his tools, “I have very much enjoyed drawing you today.” He locks eyes with Will. “You should sit for me sometime.”

“Sit...like, model?” Will asks, feeling breathless under Hannibal’s gaze. 

“Precisely,” Hannibal says, keeping his eyes locked firmly on Will’s. 

Will freezes in place, going hot all over, then cold. “You mean, like...naked?”

Hannibal gives him a sly smile. “That’s not necessary. Unless you would prefer it that way.”

Will’s mind goes unbidden to his dream of the plums. His mouth goes dry, but he manages to croak out, “No, I...no. That’s okay.” 

Hannibal chuckles as he stands. “I’m teasing you, Will.”

“Oh,” Will says. A mild disappointment taints his sense of relief.

“Although,” Hannibal says, gathering up his things from the bench, “I should at the very least have you over soon. You and your family have been so welcoming to me. It’s time I repay you.”

Will slips Winston’s leash to his other hand. “You don’t have to...I mean, I would love to. If you want.”

Hannibal tucks his art supplies back into his bag. “We’ll make arrangements, then. But for now,” he bends and smiles at Winston, “we should get this fellow home, yes?”

Winston yawns. Will grins down at his dog. “Yeah, I guess he’s pretty much worn out. Winston, c’mon. Let’s get you some water so we can go.” He gives the leash a gentle shake, and Winston perks up. He takes his dog to a nearby water fountain, which has a special spigot and low bowl for pets. Winston drinks his fill and looks up expectantly. Will chuckles. “Okay.” He reaches into a pocket and brings out a treat. Makes Winston go back through his commands before giving it over. Their ritual completed, he turns to Hannibal. “You ready?” 

Hannibal nods, and follows Will and Winston back to the car.


	3. A First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will spends the afternoon with Hannibal. Things take a sexual turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some elements of dubious consent.

Will picks up his buzzing phone, nearly drops it when he sees Hannibal’s name on the screen. He swipes to answer and says, in a lightly quavering voice, “Hello?”

“Hello, Will. How are you?”

Will sits up on his bed, runs a hand through his unruly curls. “Good. You?”

“I am well, thank you. Is this a good time?”

“Yeah. Yeah, what’s up?”

He can practically hear Hannibal’s easy smile. “I was wondering if you would care to spend the afternoon with me.”

Will’s breath catches. Part of him wants to scream out, _Yes! A thousand times, yes!_ Part of him wants to hide away, avoid any chance to stumble, to fumble, to disappoint. He licks his lips. Answers, “Sure.”

“Excellent. When would you like to come over?”

Will checks the time. Measures out the hours he’ll have before his parents leave work, pick up Abby from camp, and head home. “Fifteen minutes? Is that too soon?”

“Not at all. That’s perfect.”

Will nods out of habit. “Cool. I uh,” he looks around his room. “I could bring over my Xbox or something. Unless you’ve got one.”

“No, please do. I look forward to it. See you shortly.” 

Will’s heart gives a little leap. “Yeah. Okay. See you soon.”

\--------

Will loads up one of his favorite games, a shooter that he sometimes plays with a team online, but mostly plays in single-player mode. Hannibal is surprisingly good at the game, for a beginner, racking up kills with little help and only rarely making mistakes. But when Will asks if he wants to play yet another round, he shakes his head. 

“I’m afraid I find this a bit pedestrian,” he admits. 

“Oh, uh...okay,” Will says, apologetic. “I have other games, or…”

Hannibal turns to Will, fixing him with an intense, searching gaze. “We should do something else.”

“Like what?” Will asks, heart pounding. 

“What do you want to do, Will?” A sudden sharpness in those dark eyes, like the teeth of a tiger.

Will pauses, heart hammering. Licks his lips. Settles for safety. “I dunno.”

Hannibal’s eyes bore into him. “I think you do know. And I think I know.”

Will pulls away a little. “If you think you know so much, what do you think…” he trips on his own words. Tries again. “What do you think I want to do?”

Hannibal gives a little half-smile, as if to say, _I thought you’d never ask_. “I think you want to kiss me, Will. And more than that.”

Will blanches, caught off-guard. Hannibal has seen right through him. He feels completely naked. More than naked—flayed. “Wh...what?” he stammers. “I don’t…”

And then Hannibal’s mouth is on his. Soft and warm, and tasting of a complex sweetness that reminds Will of the drinks of red wine he sometimes sneaks from his mother’s bottles. But this is far finer. And far more intoxicating. 

Will jerks back. “What the hell, man?” he snaps, back to pretending. But his erection signals the truth. 

Thankfully, Hannibal’s eyes never dart downward. But he knows. Somehow, he knows. “Will,” he says, patient, “you know exactly what the hell. Come here,” he commands. 

Will cannot help but obey. He leans forward, but closes his eyes. He feels the warm tickle of Hannibal’s breath on his cheek. Feels Hannibal’s lips brush the corner of his mouth. Feels the deep, wanting ache in his groin. Feels another warm exhalation at his ear. 

“This is what you want,” Hannibal states. He kisses Will’s earlobe so gently, so very gently. 

Will sucks in a breath. “This is what I want,” he agrees. 

Hannibal’s kiss lingers. His lips quest further, sucking and playing. His tongue darts out and strokes the space behind Will’s ear. Will moans, much to his own surprise. He is on fire with the urge to touch himself, but he does not dare move until Hannibal tells him to. 

Hannibal’s tongue continues to tease and taunt, flicking and darting in a way that makes Will quiver. But then Hannibal’s hand caresses Will’s groin. 

“Wait.” Will’s hand closes over Hannibal’s wrist. “I’m not, um,” he stammers, “I’m not, y’know...gay.”

Hannibal sits back. Shrugs. “Neither am I.”

Will stares. “So why are you doing this?”

Hannibal’s dark eyes remain steady. “Because I want to,” he says simply. “Don’t you?”

Will’s heart hammers, sending the pulse in his throat jumping. “Uh...I mean…” He can’t answer. He shifts the subject instead. “You...have you done this before?”

“Many times,” Hannibal says.

Will’s brows come together. “But you said you’re not gay.”

“Will,” Hannibal says, patient, “you don’t have to be gay to get off with another man. To have sex with one, even. Being attracted to another man does not make you gay.”

“So what does it make me?” He flinches, corrects himself, “You, I mean. You. One. What does it make a guy if he, y’know...fucks another guy?”

Hannibal shrugs again. “It could make him many things; it could mean many things.” Before Will can interject again, he goes on, “I used to attend a boys’ boarding school. This sort of thing went on quite a lot. And I participated when I wanted to. Certainly, some of the boys who participated were interested only in other boys. But not all of us were.”

“Then why do it?” Will asks. 

“Why do it with a woman?” Hannibal counters. “For love, for companionship, for the fun of it.” He looks up at Will. “For some, it was a simple need for human touch. For comfort.” He leans back, lounging. “It wasn’t all sex,” he explains. “Sometimes there were great piles of boys simply holding one another.” His mouth pulls into a wicked grin that shows off his very sharp canines, “And sometimes there were great piles of boys doing far more.”

Will blushes, but he cannot look away. Hannibal’s eyes have him pinned in place. “But,” he says, still unable to comprehend. He blinks, finally tears himself away from Hannibal’s gaze. “What about now? Isn’t this a little…?”

Hannibal tilts his head back. Sandy hair falls away from his face. “You’re getting hung up on labels,” he says. “Why not just let it be what it is?”

Will hesitates. Licks his lips. “And..so...what is it?”

Hannibal takes a breath, in through his nose and then slowly out. “You,” he answers simply. “Me.”

Will shakes his head. “That’s it? Just...us?”

Hannibal leans forward, offers his graceful hand to Will. “Just us.” His hand stays steady, even as Will lets it remain, raised and empty. “Are you attracted to me, Will?” he asks. 

Will opens his mouth, but nothing comes out except a breathy squeaking sound.

Hannibal’s posture does not soften, but his tone does. “I’m attracted to you, Will. I find you very attractive.” His eyes rove down to his still-outstretched hand, then up to Will’s face. “Are you attracted to me?” he asks again. 

Will breathes. Waits. Whispers, “Yes.”

Hannibal ducks his head, so his gaze can make contact with Will’s downturned eyes. “So,” he says. “Would you like to get off with me?”

Will lets out a shuddering breath. He cannot manage another yes, cannot be so frighteningly honest again, so soon. He cannot bring himself to say anything. Hannibal waits patiently. Will’s breathing becomes tight. 

Will’s hand trembles as it reaches out and grasps Hannibal’s. 

Hannibal smiles. 

“What do I…?” Will asks. 

Hannibal keeps hold of Will’s hand, gives it a squeeze. “Just sit there,” he instructs. “Close your eyes if you like.” 

Will squeezes his eyes shut, grips Hannibal’s hand, waits. Hannibal’s free hand snakes up his thigh, grazes his erection, reaches for the front of his jeans. Will’s heart pounds in his chest, driving his breath faster. Hannibal undoes Will’s jeans, holds the waistband with his hand and draws the zipper down with his teeth. Will’s head drops back as he moans again. His brows draw together as Hannibal’s hand dips into his shorts and strokes all down the length of his erection. He bites down on another moan.

“Do you like this?” Hannibal asks. 

Will nods, the frantic motion bouncing his curls against his shoulders. 

“Tell me you like it,” Hannibal says. 

“I...I like it,” Will pants. 

Hannibal’s free hand continues to stroke Will’s erection, slowly teasing it up and out of his shorts. “Would you like me to do something more?”

“I...yes. Yes.”

“What would you like me to do?”

Will’s eyes snap open, and he looks down at Hannibal. “Anything. Anything, please!”

Hannibal’s dark eyes glitter as he gives a wicked smile. “Would you like me to suck your cock?” he asks. 

Will nods again. 

“Ask me,” Hannibal commands. 

“Please,” Will moans. “Please suck my cock.” 

Hannibal nods, dips his head down. Presses his lips to the tip of Will’s cock, almost like a kiss, then slowly, slowly, sucks the head into his mouth. 

Will makes a high-pitched little noise, trembles with the effort of holding himself back. The warm wetness of Hannibal’s mouth, the velvet of his tongue swirling against the head of his cock, is almost too much. Hannibal begins to work the shaft, pulling Will deeper into his mouth, rubbing his tongue up and down the length of his erection, gulping him down until his lips reach the very base of Will’s cock. Will sinks back, propping himself on his elbows, his breath heaving deep in his belly. 

Hannibal’s head begins to bob up and down. Will cries out. His hand spasms in Hannibal’s grip. Hannibal shifts his hand, laces his fingers together with Will’s. Will hangs on, his other hand tangling in the bedclothes. His hips begin to buck, pushing his cock deeper into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal’s free hand slides around to cup Will’s ass, encouraging his thrusts. 

Will’s heaving breath turns into helpless moaning. He loses himself in the waves of pleasure rolling over his body, in the deep, aching pulse in his cock. He loses all sense of time; it seems a second, and an eternity, when the pulse reaches a fever pitch, and he finally lets go, back arching, muscles straining as he comes into Hannibal’s mouth. 

Hannibal swallows, runs his tongue around the head of Will’s cock one more time, and then lets Will slip from his mouth. Their hands finally part. 

Will sinks onto the bed with a long, satisfied groan. He drowses for a few moments, warm and content. Then he feels the mattress dip, first on one side of his body and then on the other. He opens his eyes to find Hannibal straddling him. Will’s heart gives a sudden thump, and he scrambles to sit up. Hannibal grins and places a hand against Will’s chest. 

“Wha...what are you…?” Will fumbles. 

“Your turn,” Hannibal answers. 

“Uh,” Will says. 

Hannibal rubs Will’s chest. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, “you’ll be good at this.”

Will flushes, panicked. “I don’t...I’ve never…”

“Relax,” Hannibal soothes, unbuttoning his trousers. 

Will takes a deep breath. Lets it out. His stomach shivers. “What do I do?” he asks, timid. 

Hannibal takes Will’s hand again, guides it forward. Will’s heart pounds as he explores the firm bulge of Hannibal’s groin. Hannibal sighs, smiling. “That’s very good, Will,” he says. “I like that.” 

Will slips his trembling hand into Hannibal’s trousers, paws at the fine fabric he finds inside. Hannibal reaches in and tugs down his shorts, lets himself spring into Will’s hand. 

Will jumps a little. Flushes red. Looks down at Hannibal’s cock, then up at his face. He begins to stroke Hannibal’s cock almost experimentally. Hannibal’s eyelids flutter, and he turns his face up to the ceiling as though basking in a shaft of sunlight. Will’s slow, steady motion becomes a little firmer, more confident. 

“Good,” Hannibal confirms. “Keep going.”

Will begins to harden again. He keeps up his pace, watches a warm flush begin to creep up Hannibal’s neck and into his cheeks. Hannibal’s cock pulses in his hand, seeming to grow harder with every stroke. Will’s cock responds in kind. 

Hannibal shivers. “Now,” he says, “open your mouth.”

Will’s parts his lips. Drops his jaw. Closes his eyes. 

Hannibal scoots forward. Gently pulls Will’s hand away from his cock. Slips into Will’s mouth. 

Will holds painfully still as Hannibal’s cock slides across his tongue. He breathes hard through his nose. 

“Relax,” Hannibal says again. “I’m not going down your throat.” 

Will relaxes his jaw muscles, lets his tongue go soft. He flicks his eyes up at Hannibal, questioning, finds himself trapped by Hannibal’s keen gaze. The ghost of a whimper escapes from him.

Hannibal reaches down and cups Will’s cheek. Strokes it with his thumb. “Let’s begin,” he says. 

Will swallows around Hannibal’s cock. Moves his tongue just a little, trying out a few strokes against the underside of the shaft. 

“Yes,” Hannibal encourages. “Yes, Will. Good.”

Will laps at Hannibal’s cock more eagerly, feels himself rising. 

“Good,” Hannibal says again.   
Will begins to bob his head, taking it slow at first. He hears Hannibal’s breath begin to come in sharp little pants, and bobs faster, matching the rhythm of Hannibal’s breathing. 

“Mmm,” Hannibal thrums. Reaches down. Runs his fingers through Will’s curls. Lets his hand linger on the back of Will’s head.

Will pauses. 

“Don’t stop,” Hannibal whispers. “You’re doing magnificently, Will.” 

Will sucks hard on Hannibal’s cock, drawing a gasp and then a fluttering exhalation from him. Will begins moving his head again, and Hannibal nods his approval. 

“Keep going,” Hannibal urges. “Keep going, Will.”

Will redoubles his efforts, sucking as he bobs his head, moaning against Hannibal’s cock. He gropes his way around Hannibal’s leg and grips his own cock, begins pumping away. 

Hannibal leans forward, bracing his palms flat on the wall. “Yes,” he hisses. “Like that.”

Sweat begins to trickle down Will’s face. He breathes like a bellows, nostrils flaring as he works Hannibal’s cock and his own. 

Hannibal gasps again. Shivers. “Will,” he moans, “oh, yes, Will, yes.”

Will’s belly clenches tight with the effort of holding his orgasm back, but then Hannibal’s back arches, and Will’s mouth fills with tingling, salty liquid warmth, and he lets go. His cum splatters up the back of Hannibal’s shirt. 

Hannibal sags, the motion pulling his cock from Will’s mouth. 

Will lies there for a moment, mouth full of cum, eyes darting up to Hannibal’s face. 

Hannibal rolls off of Will and onto the bed. “You don’t have to swallow,” he says. “I won’t be offended.”

Will fights the hitching in his throat, closes his eyes, and swallows. The warmth dances down into his belly and settles there briefly before fading away. He turns his head to find Hannibal propped up on his elbows, gazing serenely back. 

“That was wonderful, Will,” Hannibal says. “Did you enjoy it?”

Will nods, his breath still coming too fast to speak. 

Hannibal sits up and begins to unbutton his shirt. 

“Oh shit,” Will pants, “your shirt.”

Hannibal chuckles. “It will wash out. Don’t worry.” He cocks his head. “Would you like to take a shower?”

“Uh,” Will says, “I...I think I’ll just wash up in the sink.”

Hannibal reaches beneath the bed and pulls out a package of moist wipes. “Here,” he offers them to Will. “If you’d like to attend to yourself a little bit beforehand.”

Will sits up. “Attend to myself?”

Hannibal stands. Stretches. Slips out of his trousers and shorts. Says matter-of-factly, “Your cock is covered in cum. You don’t want to smear that all over the inside of your pants and then walk down the hall to wash.”

“Oh. Um.” Will picks up the package and takes a few wipes. Mops at his crotch, then his mouth and hands. 

Hannibal slips out of his shirt and plucks a wipe from the package. He rubs at the splotches on his shirt, ridding it of the worst of the mess. Plucks another wipe and dabs at the corners of his mouth, as though he has just finished an exquisite meal. Runs the wipe gracefully over his groin. Glides to the wastebasket and drops the wipes in, then to the door. 

“Are...aren’t you going to put some clothes on?” Will asks. 

Hannibal looks over his shoulder. “Why? There’s no one here but us.”

“Right,” Will mumbles. “But still, what if—” 

“You worry too much, Will,” Hannibal says, slipping out the door, headed for the shower.


	4. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will struggles with his feelings. Dinner (and more) with Hannibal resolves some of his confusion.

_Is everything all right?_

The text makes Will wonder. Makes him question himself. Is everything all right, after what happened? 

Has he lost his virginity? Does it count? 

He flushes hot at the memory, begins to harden and then deflates, feeling embarrassed without understanding why. 

He takes a tepid shower. Not quite cold, but close. 

It’s only been a day since he and Hannibal sucked each other off. Part of him is terrified someone will find out; part of him wants to shout it from the rooftops. If his parents knew...he banishes the thought from his mind, concentrates on getting dressed, focuses on each action and minute detail. The physical feeling of fabric against his skin. The color of each piece of clothing. The scent of clean laundry and the lingering smell of body wash. But then the thought intrudes—what would it be like to have Hannibal come up to him now, press his nose to the hollow of his neck, smell his freshly-showered skin? He shivers. 

Will scoops up his phone from the bed, pockets it along with wallet and keys, and heads out. 

At the animal shelter, he goes through the motions, completing each task on autopilot. His mind wanders back to Hannibal over and over again. He keeps his phone in his pocket. Feels it like a lead weight, insistent. But it doesn’t chime a text alert all morning. His hand strays to his pocket repeatedly, and a heavy sense of disappointment washes over him every time he finds his phone still and quiet. 

“You okay?” 

The question snaps Will out of the fog of his thoughts and feelings. “What?”

Mrs. Trask, the volunteer coordinator who supervises his shifts. She gives him a motherly smile. “You seem like you’re a million miles away today. You okay?”

“Oh.” Will stops sweeping. “Yeah, I just…gotta start thinking about college applications,” he lies. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

Mrs. Trask nods. “I know what you mean. My daughter’s going through the same thing. It’s a shame all they put on you. Such a young age to be deciding so much.”

Will manages a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Whole future, you’ve gotta lock it down and make a choice about what you’re gonna do for the rest of your life.”

She chuckles. “Well, most people change careers a few times during their lifetime. I mean, look at me—I used to be a bank teller.” Her eyes twinkle. “But here I am now, doing something I truly love.” 

“That’s really good,” Will says, his mind already starting to drift again.

Mrs. Trask gives his shoulder an affectionate pat. “You’ll find something you love,” she assures him. “And you’re smart. You’ll be successful at whatever you decide to do.”

“Yeah,” Will answers. Focuses back on her long enough to give a sincere, “Thanks, Mrs. Trask.”

She rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you,” another smile, “call me Ellen.”

“Thanks, Ellen,” Will says.

“That’s better.” She looks around Will to the section of floor he’s finished sweeping. “Looks like you’re almost done.”

Will checks his watch. “Right. I’ll finish this up and then I’ve gotta get going.”

Mrs. Trask nods. Turns to go back to her own tasks. “Sure thing. And Will? Don’t worry yourself too much.”

Will returns her nod. “Okay. Thanks again.”

Left alone, his thoughts return to Hannibal. As if on cue, his phone pings. He scrambles to retrieve it from his pocket. 

_I understand if you need some space. Take all the time you need. I will be here when you are ready._

Will’s heart does a complex tumble, tripping over a mix of emotions. I will be here when you are ready. An assurance, or a command? He shakes his head. Returns his phone to his pocket. Resumes sweeping.

\--------

Will lies on his bed, toying with his phone. His chest feels constricted. He slows his breathing, trying to calm his racing pulse. He opens his texting app. Closes it. Opens it again. Takes a long, deep breath and lets it out. 

_Hey._

A few seconds tick by. _Hello, Will._

Will bites his lip. _Sorry it took so long to get back to you._

_There is no need to apologize. I understand. This must have been a lot to process._

Will begins a response. Deletes it. Goes with a simple, _Yeah._

_Are you all right?_

He considers. Reels back over all the heavy thinking he’s done over the past three days. Picks apart some more of the tangle of emotions that has trapped him for what feels like an eternity. _I think so._

A pause. _Would you like to talk in person?_

Will’s heart leaps up to choke him. He wipes his suddenly damp hands on his shirt. Picks up his phone again. _Yeah._

_May I request the pleasure of your company for dinner?_

Will swallows, taken by surprise. So formal. So elegant. How can he resist such an invitation? He starts to type out, _Yeah,_ out of habit. Thinks better of it. Replaces it with, _Yes._ Considers. Adds, _I’d be delighted._

_Splendid. Are you available at 7:00 tonight?_

_Let me check. It should be fine._

_Do let me know. I look forward to hosting you, whenever it is convenient._

_Will do. Thank you._

_My pleasure._

Will immediately texts his mother, _Hannibal invited me over for dinner tonight. OK if I go?_ Waits tensely for the reply. 

_Sure :) Enjoy!_

Will breathes his relief. Sends back to Hannibal, _We’re on._

_Most excellent. See you at 7:00._

_See you then._

Will feels a giddy smile creep across his face. 

\--------

Hannibal answers the door in his apron. A heavenly aroma wafts out around him as he beams at Will. 

“Hi,” Will says, trying not to blush under the power of Hannibal’s smile. 

“Good evening, Will. Do come in.”

Will steps across the threshold, removes his shoes. Remarks, “Something smells good.” Kicks himself for saying something so inane. 

Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, ushering Will into the dining room with a little bow. “Mixed mushroom ravioli in a white wine and cream sauce. Preceded by a simple salad with a lemon vinaigrette.” 

Will marvels at the table, decorated with a linen runner and a gorgeous arrangement of greenery and fresh flowers at the center, and with a formal place setting at each end. He swallows drily at the thought of his clumsy fingers handling the delicate-looking flatware, the fine china, the crystal water glass. “Is this...is all this…?” He has trouble finishing the thought. 

“I’ve been given special permission to bring out the china,” Hannibal says with what appears to be a subtle blush. “Please, won’t you sit?”

Will does as he is bidden, perching nervously on his chair. 

Hannibal chuckles, not unkindly, and urges, “Relax.” He retrieves a carafe of chilled water from a serving tray on the bar and fills both water glasses, then disappears into the kitchen. He returns sans apron, bearing a serving bowl of salad and a tiny pitcher of dressing. He takes up the tongs and places a neat pile of mixed greens and fresh vegetables on Will’s salad plate, then fills his own. He lets Will pour his own dressing, then takes his turn. With the salad served, he takes his own seat opposite Will. 

Hannibal picks up his salad fork and smiles. “Buon appetito,” he says, and spears the first bite. 

Will takes up his own salad fork gently and maneuvers a small bite of salad into his mouth. The vinaigrette sings on his tongue, a bright complement to the crisp flavors of the salad. “Mm,” he exclaims. “This is great. Really delicious.”

Hannibal smiles across the table. “Thank you.”

Will follows Hannibal’s controlled eating pace, resisting the urge to plow through the salad, to get as much of that flavor into his mouth as he can. A mild sense of accomplishment sweeps through him at the thought that he has managed, in however small a way, to appear somewhat refined.

Hannibal dabs at his mouth with a napkin and rises. Collects both salad plates and takes them into the kitchen. Returns with a serving dish that suffuses the air of the dining room with the delightful, delicious scent that greeted Will at the door. Spoons pasta onto Will’s dinner plate and drizzles it with sauce. He serves himself and takes his seat again. 

Will follows Hannibal’s lead, cuts into a raviolo and lifts a piece to his mouth. The symphony of flavor that fills his mouth makes his eyes close and his breath come out in a groan of pleasure. The slight crystalline ting of salt just precedes the warm, earthy, basso notes of the mushrooms; the lilting soprano zing of wine lifts the smooth tenor richness of the cream. It all melds together in a harmony that nearly renders Will speechless. He chews slowly, savoring every note. Once he has swallowed that first bite, his eyes drift open, and he finds Hannibal watching him with clear satisfaction. “This is amazing,” Will says. “Where did you get this?”

Hannibal takes a small sip from his water glass. “I made it.”

Will looks down at his plate again, dumbfounded. Each raviolo seems so perfect. The Grahams have made pasta before, and it has never turned out anything like this. The pasta is delicate, nearly translucent, stuffed with just the right amount of filling, neither over-plump nor too flat. Each edge perfectly crimped. Each piece a consistent size and shape. He can hardly believe this beautiful creation was made by human hands. 

But this is Hannibal. Elegant, graceful, masterful Hannibal. So full of talents. 

Will’s eyes flit up to Hannibal, then back to his plate. “It’s amazing,” he repeats. 

Hannibal grins his pleasure. “I’m so glad you like it, Will.”

“I love it,” Will declares, taking another bite. 

Even chewing slowly, Will makes short work of the entree. He accepts a second helping and enjoys it as thoroughly as the first. When he has finished, Hannibal again clears the plates, and brings the dessert: quenelles of lime sorbet atop a fan of crisp, whisper-thin vanilla cookies. The sorbet is refreshing and tart, a delightful palate-cleanser; the cookies are airy and sweet. 

“Coffee?” Hannibal offers when the dessert plates are cleared.

Will shakes his head. “I’d better not. I’ll be up all night.”

Hannibal gives a delicate nod. “Then I suppose we had better talk.”

Will’s heart stutters. In the pleasure of the meal, he had forgotten his original reason for coming there. He licks his lips. “Right.”

Hannibal rises. “Let’s move into the living room. It will be more comfortable there.” 

\--------

Hannibal takes a seat in an armchair. Gestures for Will to take the couch opposite. Will obeys, lowering himself to the plush cushions. 

“So,” Hannibal says. Lets the moment hang. 

Will rubs the back of his neck. “Um. I guess…” he begins. Looks up at Hannibal. “I guess we should talk about what happened. The other day.”

“And what is it that happened, Will?”

Will cocks his head. Narrows his eyes slightly. Is Hannibal fucking with him?

Hannibal steeples his fingers. “I need you to say what it was,” he explains. “Give it a name.”

“I…” Will stammers. “I don’t know what to...I mean...it wasn’t exactly sex.”

“Because there was no penetration?” 

Will blushes. Looks down at his hands. “I mean, yeah. I guess so.”

“So what would you like to call it?” So calm. So casual. As if they are discussing the weather, and not something of such significance. 

“I don’t know,” Will says, a hint of sharpness creeping into his voice. “I don’t…” he shakes his head. “I can’t sit here and play head games. I feel like…” he sighs, leans back against the couch cushions. “I feel like my head’s been messed with enough.”

Hannibal’s face does not betray any hint of emotion. “Do you feel like I’ve messed with your head, Will?”

Will backtracks. “Not you. Not exactly. Just...the whole thing is really confusing, I guess.”

Hannibal tilts his head slightly. “Are you questioning your sexual orientation?”

Will stiffens, sits up a little straighter. “I mean, I still like girls.” Rolls his eyes inwardly. _Way to go. Not defensive at all._

Hannibal simply nods. “But you also like what we did together. You like not-exactly-sex, with me.”

Will laces and unlaces his fingers. Shrugs. “I guess so, yeah.”

Hannibal leans forward. Rests his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands together. “Will,” he says, “you speak about this like you’re uncertain. I don’t think you are.”

Will avoids Hannibal’s gaze. “Well...what if I did like it?”

“Then you could ask me to do it again.”

Will’s eyes dart up, look to see if Hannibal is sincere. Hannibal’s dark eyes bore into him, strip him bare. He nearly quivers, pierced there, pinned in place. 

“And I would,” Hannibal says, “if you wanted to.” His gaze softens. “I enjoyed it a great deal, Will. And I think you did, too. Tell me, honestly, how you felt about it.”

Will takes a breath. Feels his heart crashing against his ribs. “I felt…” he casts about for the right words. Settles for simplicity. For honesty. Whispers, “I liked it.” Feels his face grow hot. 

“And how do you feel now?”

Will opens his mouth to answer, but finds that nothing will come out. He has wrestled with this exact question for days on end, and come to no real conclusion. And here, now, under Hannibal’s keen gaze, he feels exposed. Raw. Anger begins to warm in his chest. He rubs a hand over his brow. “I don’t know, okay?”

Hannibal sits up, his features clouded with concern. “Oh Will,” he says, sounding almost sad, “don’t tell me I’ve broken you.”

“I’m not broken,” Will snaps, “I’m just...confused.”

A pause. “I’m sorry,” Hannibal says quietly. 

Will’s anger dies, replaced by fear that he’s hurt Hannibal’s feelings. “I’m not...it’s not your fault,” he says. 

Hannibal leans back in the chair. “It is, though. I knew what I was doing. You didn’t. I’m afraid I took advantage.”

Will shakes his head. “You didn’t take advantage of me. I mean...I told you I wanted to.”

“And did you want to?”

Will finds himself saying emphatically, “Yes.”

Hannibal smiles, and a warmth suffuses Will’s entire body. “And you enjoyed it?” Hannibal asks.

Will nods. “Yes.”

“Would you like to do it again sometime?”

Will’s mouth goes dry. He hesitates. Considers. Nods again. 

Hannibal lays his hands in his lap, ducks his gaze away from Will’s. “Will,” he asks, “may I kiss you?”

“Uh.” Will pauses, at a loss for words. Finally quavers out, “Sure.”

Hannibal crosses the room slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. Sits down on the couch next to Will. Reaches out a hand and rests the tips of his fingers on Will’s jaw, turning his head gently. Leans forward and lays a butterfly-light kiss on Will’s lips. Sighs. Flicks his eyes up to meet Will’s. “Would you like to kiss me back, Will?”

In answer, Will leans in and presses his mouth to Hannibal’s, feels a heat rise from his groin and fill his belly, his chest, his limbs, his face. Leans in deeper, places a hand on Hannibal’s back, feels Hannibal’s elegant fingers begin to tangle in his hair. The head of his cock rubs against the fabric of his underwear as he begins to harden. 

Hannibal leans back, taking Will with him as he reclines on the couch. Lets Will lie on top of him. Flicks his tongue against Will’s lips. Gives a little “Mm” of satisfaction as Will’s lips part to let him in. Plays his tongue against Will’s. 

Will’s hips begin to move, grinding against Hannibal’s thigh. He breaks the kiss with a small, breathy moan, his brows drawing together as he closes his eyes and loses himself for a moment in pleasure. 

Hannibal reaches around, grabs the waistband of Will’s shorts. Pulls Will closer, pushes his thigh deeper into Will’s groin. Draws a louder moan from Will. Takes a long breath deep into his chest. “Upstairs,” he says. 

Will nods, frantic with desire. Leaps up from the couch and heads for the stairs. Hannibal follows fast on his heels, practically races him to the second floor and down the hall to the bedroom. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Will begins to tear out of his clothes, shedding shirt and shorts and underwear within seconds and starting in on Hannibal’s. Hannibal’s body bangs against the door, and he lets out a sharp little sound that makes Will pause. 

“Keep going,” Hannibal breathes.

Will unzips Hannibal’s trousers, yanks them down. Pulls his underwear down with the same savagery. Reaches up to tear at his shirt and finds that Hannibal is already half done unbuttoning it. He puts his hands on either side of Hannibal’s face and pulls him into another kiss, forces his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth, stops only when he hears the sound of Hannibal’s shirt hitting the floor. 

Hannibal steps out of his trousers, puts his hands on Will’s shoulders, pushes him back toward the bed. Will stumbles across the room, flops onto the bed. Hannibal climbs on top of him, kisses him savagely, seizes Will’s erect cock and begins to stroke it. 

Will yelps at the sudden pleasure, writhes against the blankets. Flails out an arm and finds Hannibal’s shoulder, grips it tightly. 

Hannibal works Will’s cock with one hand and his own with the other, pumping furiously and moaning low in his throat. Will breathes in heavy, sharp gasps, gulping air with desperate speed. Hannibal pants just as hard, his breath coming in ragged little growls. Will bucks under him, eyes squeezed shut, mouth fixed in a slack-jawed expression of total submission to the sensations bombarding his body. Hannibal groans at the beauty of it. 

Will’s gasping suddenly turns to moaning, his pitch rising as his cock surges in Hannibal’s hand. The sound drives Hannibal wild; his own cock responds in kind, and soon they come in unison. Hot white rivulets splash onto Will’s heaving belly, and Hannibal collapses onto the bed next to him, shuddering as aftershocks of pleasure rock his body. 

Hannibal recovers more quickly than Will, and gets up to retrieve the wipes from under the bed. Cleans up fastidiously and lays the pack on the bed next to Will. Gathers up and begins to don his clothes.

Will reaches for the pack of wipes without opening his eyes, grabs a handful, and scrubs at his sticky skin. Sits up slowly, his body sluggish, then gets to his feet. Crosses the room. Takes Hannibal’s face in his hands and gives him a lazy, languorous kiss. “That was—”

A click from downstairs cuts off his words: the sound of the front door being unlocked. Will and Hannibal both freeze. “Hannibal?” A light, musical voice. Hannibal’s aunt. Will’s eyes go wide, and he begins frantically grabbing up his clothes and pulling them back on. 

“She wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour, at least,” Hannibal whispers. Turns his head, calls, “Upstairs. I’ll be down in a minute.” Rushes to do up the last few buttons of his shirt.

“Okay. Goodness, something smells delicious. Did you cook?”

Hannibal opens the bedroom door and proceeds out to the landing, gestures for Will to follow him. Will zips up his shorts and goes after Hannibal. “I did,” Hannibal calls down. “There’s some left, if you’re hungry.” He takes a breath, smooths his hair, and just like that, his composure has returned. He flows down the stairs, all grace and calm. 

“Starving. The dinner meeting got canceled. The client’s flight was held up, so she won’t be arriving until almost midnight.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Hannibal rounds the corner to the dining room with Will in tow. 

“This was more of a hospitality meeting; the real work is tomorrow, so we haven’t actually missed much. How was your dinner party?”

There, in the kitchen, an elegant, middle-aged Japanese woman in an impeccably-tailored skirt suit, pulling a plate from a cabinet. She turns with a smile, then says, “Oh. Hello,” when she sees Will. 

“Hi, Ms. Murasaki,” Will says, lifting a hand in greeting. 

Her eyes light up with recognition. “Will! From next door. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Will answers. Shifts his weight to his other foot. 

Ms. Murasaki leans casually against the counter. “So you’re Hannibal’s ‘special friend,’ for whom we use the china.”

Will blushes. Begins to stammer a reply.

“Yes,” Hannibal answers, saving him from the embarrassment of tripping over his words. “We were just about to begin cleaning up. But we would be glad to keep you company while you dine.”

She waves a hand. “Don’t worry about that, I won’t get in between you and your cleaning.” She turns to the serving dishes and begins portioning salad and ravioli onto her plate. “Besides, I have to get some more work done tonight.” Looks at Will over her shoulder, “So I’m afraid this must be adieu for the evening.”

“Oh, um,” Will says, “it was good seeing you.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles. “You as well. And thank you for keeping Hannibal company, I’m certain he appreciates it.”

Hannibal nods. “A great deal.”

“Well,” Ms. Murasaki says, “I’ll leave you two to it. Good night, Will.” 

“Good night,” he responds as she glides from the room. Graceful as a dancer. Just like Hannibal. 

Hannibal goes to the sink and begins running water for the dishes. When Will hangs back, he turns and looks over his shoulder. 

Will wears a shy little smile. “‘Special friend?’” he asks. 

Hannibal nods. “For whom we use the china.” He offers up a dish towel. “Will you dry?” 

Will comes forward and accepts the towel. “Sure.”

Hannibal seems to lose himself in the task of gently washing the delicate china; for Will it is not so easy. His mind whirls with doubt and insecurity, excitement and giddy hope. As they move on from the china and to the serving dishes, Will pauses. Takes a breath. 

“Is this...was this a date?” he asks, feeling the blood drain from his face as he does so. 

Hannibal regards him with reserved coolness. “Would you like it to be?”

Will deliberates within himself. Feels a pit open up in his stomach. Looks down at the dish in his hands. “I, um. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Hannibal takes a moment before going back to washing up. “Then it wasn’t,” he says, seeming completely unbothered. “Simply dinner with a friend.” No mention of what came after dinner. 

Will feels as though a door has shut, and regrets his choice. They finish the dishes in silence. Will dries his hands. Gives the towel over to Hannibal. Says, “I should go.”

Hannibal makes no move to stop him. “Then I’ll bid you good evening. Let me walk you to the door.” So formal. So distant. 

Hannibal opens the door, and Will steps out onto the porch. “I guess...I’ll see you, then,” Will says. “And, um. Thanks so much. For dinner.” He almost adds, _And everything else._ But Hannibal’s expression is closed to him, a mystery.

“My pleasure.” No inflection. Then, as his guest turns to start down the steps, “And Will?” 

Will stops mid-stride. Turns back. 

“I enjoyed making you come.”

Will turns scarlet, looks around to see if anyone heard. The street is empty. He looks up at Hannibal, aghast, but Hannibal simply stands in the doorway, relaxed. Placid. Will can’t think of anything to say. 

Hannibal finally gives a tiny smile. Just a faint lifting of the corners of his mouth. “Good night, Will.” 

“Y-yeah. G’night.” Will rushes down the steps and back to his own door.


	5. Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will calls Hannibal. Phone sex ensues.

Will’s fingers tremble uncontrollably. He thinks he finally understands why people say, _I could use a drink_. Not that he has any real experience with drinking, but he understands the need for a chemical cushion, the desire for an aid to still the anxiety, to quiet the clamor of doubt. Liquid courage. He rubs his hands together, takes a deep breath. Picks up his phone again. 

_Hey._

He puts his phone down. Walks to the other side of his bedroom. Stares back at his phone. Paces back and forth. It seems an agonizing eternity before his phone pings. He picks it back up.

_Hello, Will. How are you?_

Will runs his hand through his hair. _Good._

_Glad to hear it. I was worried._

Will’s face catches in an awkward expression, unsure whether to smile or frown. He texts back, _Worried?_

_Yes. I thought I had frightened you away._

Will’s face settles on a frown. Several days have gone by without any communication; no wonder Hannibal has worried. _No_. He bites his lip. Considers how to proceed. _I just needed some time to think_. Adds, _Again._

_And what are you thinking?_

Will balks. Breaks out in a sweat. Wonders how to answer. How to explain the storm of emotions and desires that has plagued him. He takes a deep breath. Decides to be brave. Taps “Call.”

Two rings. Then, Hannibal’s smooth, calm voice. “Hello, Will.”

Will manages to keep the quaver out of his voice. “Hey, Hannibal.”

“So, you decided to call?” A slight tinge of amusement. 

Will shrugs. “Yeah. I thought...I thought it would be better. This way.”

“And no concrete record of the conversation, for someone to find later.” 

“What? No, I mean...yeah, I guess that’s true, but that’s not why I called.” 

“Oh?” 

Will licks his lips. “Yeah. I,” he hesitates. “I just wanted to...to say it.” 

Hannibal waits. 

Will heaves a sigh. “Like...you said I should say it, or name it, or whatever, and I couldn’t. And I don’t know if giving it a name, to what we did, I don’t know if that’s important. But I think maybe talking about it is. So...I wanted to, y’know...talk about it.”

“I see.” A pause. “Would you like to come over?” 

“I think…” Will scuffs his foot against the carpet. “I think this is good. For now.”

“Very well. How would you like to proceed?”

Will perches on the edge of his bed. “I guess just...we just, y’know... _talk_.” 

“I can do that with you, Will.” 

Hannibal’s tone is gentle. Caring. Will relaxes a little, settles more comfortably on the bed. “So, um,” he says, “I’ve never done anything like that.”

“With another man?”

“With…” Will rubs his damp palm against his shorts, “with anybody.”

“You’ve come to me a virgin.” Surprise at the revelation. 

“Yeah.” Easier, now that it’s out in the open. 

“Will, this changes everything.” 

Will panics. “What? No it doesn’t, I mean, it doesn’t have to. I mean...what do you mean, changes everything?”

“Relax, Will,” Hannibal soothes. “I simply mean that I have more of a responsibility to you, now.”

Will’s brow furrows as he frowns. “Responsibility?” 

“Everything between us will be a series of firsts,” Hannibal explains. “Like it or not, it will shape you. _I_ will shape you. So I must be careful.”

The corner of Will’s mouth pulls back. “I’m not made of glass.”

“No. You are flesh and blood. And more than that—mind, and soul, and secrets. You are human, and therefore a feeling creature.”

Will rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to treat me like I’m breakable.”

Hannibal does not answer. Not right away. A handful of seconds ticks by in silence. Just as Will draws breath to ask if Hannibal is still there, Hannibal says gently, “I know you mean what you say, Will. But I also know that our encounters have left you feeling conflicted. They have caused you turmoil. That is not my intention, if we continue.”

“Hannibal, I just,” Will pauses. Slows down. Tries not to sound desperate. “I just needed to think. And I’ve done that now. And I…” he licks his lips, “I think I’m ready. For whatever this is.”

“And now you must name it,” Hannibal instructs. “What is this, Will?”

Will’s breath catches, snags on the knowledge that his answer could make or break the future. “It’s…” he looks around his room, listens carefully to the rest of the house, to the driveway and the street outside. No one home but him and Winston. No parental vehicles approaching. No one to hear him at all, except for the boy next door, at the other end of the call. “It’s sex,” Will declares. “It’s sex, and I want it. With you.” 

“Then,” Hannibal says, in a throaty purr that makes Will’s head spin and his cock ache, “that is what you shall have.” 

Will shivers. “When?”

Hannibal chuckles. “Now.”

Will’s brows shoot up. “Okay, um, I can be over in—”

“No. Not here.”

“But…” Will panics. “I can’t...we can’t do it over here, my parents—”

“Will.” Stern. Then, softer, “I want you to go and lock your bedroom door.”

Will frowns. “I...what?”

“Stay on the phone. And lock your door.”

Will gets up from the bed. Crosses the room. Locks his door. “Okay,” he says, “it’s locked.”

“Good. Now.” Again, that throaty purr, “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

Will looks down. “The, uh. The same thing I’m usually wearing, I guess. Tee shirt, shorts.”

“Take them off.”

Warmth begins to bloom just behind Will’s navel. “My clothes?”

“Yes. Take them off.”

“I’ll have to, um, put the phone down,” Will says, unbuttoning his shorts.

“That’s all right,” Hannibal tells him. “Pick it back up when you’re finished.”

“Okay.” Will sets his phone down on his desk. Unzips his shorts and lets them fall down around his ankles, steps out of them. Pulls his tee shirt over his head and shrugs out of it, drops it on top of his shorts. Hesitates. Tugs down his boxers and slips out of them as well. Picks his phone up. “Okay.” 

“Are you naked, Will?”

Will blushes. “Yeah, I’m...I’m naked.” 

“And how do you feel?”

“I feel, um…” Will looks down at his body, looks back up around the room. “I feel kind of...like I’m getting away with something.”

“Go on,” Hannibal invites. 

Will runs a hand through his hair. “Like...I’ve been naked in my room before. A lot. But this is...different.”

“This is quite different. Let me show you how different. Go to the window.”

Will’s heart pounds away in his chest as he crosses the room. He hangs back from the window a little, even though the curtains are drawn. 

“Will, I need you to look out the window.”

He twitches the curtain back just a fraction and peeks out. Across the span of lawns and driveways that separates the Graham house from the Murasaki house, across the narrow sea of humid air, he sees Hannibal’s bedroom window. Blinds drawn up, curtains thrown back. Hannibal, lying on the bed, stark naked. Will’s heart flops wildly. “Aren’t you afraid somebody will see you?” he stammers out, mouth agape. 

Hannibal gets up, all calm, fluid grace, and lowers the blinds. “I’ve been seen by the only person that matters,” he says. “Now you know we are both getting away with something. Let’s get away with something more.” 

Will licks his lips. “Something more?” he repeats. 

“Go and lie on your bed,” Hannibal instructs. 

Will does as bidden, stretching out on his back. “Okay. What do I do now?”

“I want you to remember what we’ve done together, Will. I want you to hold it in your mind. Everything from when I first kissed you to the last moment of your last orgasm with me. Remember how it felt to be kissed. Remember how it felt to come in my hand.”

A warm flush blooms in Will’s face. Travels down his neck. Diffuses into his chest, his belly, his groin.

“Touch your face, Will. Stroke your cheek with the back of your fingers. Gently. And tell me what you feel.”

“It feels…” Will casts about for the right words. “My skin is warm. Hot. It’s kind of...tingly.”

“Trail your fingertips across your cheek, to your mouth. Graze them across your lips. Feel your breath on your fingers. Feel its warmth. Breathe slowly, deeply, as you touch. How does that feel?”

Will closes his eyes. Slows his breath. Teases his mouth. Draws his fingers away to say, “It tickles a little bit. But in a good way.”

“Do you feel anything else, anywhere in your body?”

Will concentrates. Expands his awareness. “I feel warm. All over,” he breathes. “I can feel my pulse...everywhere.”

“Hold onto that,” Hannibal says. “Now trail your fingers down your throat. Keep your touch light. Feel that warmth in your skin. Feel the pulse jumping in your throat. Feel it coming faster. Feel it begin to build your arousal. Are you feeling aroused, Will?” 

Will’s fingertips linger at the hollow of his throat. His pulse does begin to come faster. “Yes,” he answers. 

“Then bring your hand lower, to your chest. Let it hover just above your heart. Feel the heat radiate between them, between your hand and your heart. Feel the beating of your blood in your chest, in your fingertips. Feel it in your belly. In the flesh of your inner thighs. Feel the blood coursing through your body. Feel it coursing into your cock.” 

Will jumps. His blood has indeed been coursing into his cock, bringing him half-hard already. 

“Lay your hand on your stomach, just above your navel. Breathe into your belly. Take deep, warm breaths all the way down. Pull them in. Feel your breath beneath your hand. Now, begin to rub slow, small circles with your hand. Lightly. Caress your skin. Let the circles become larger, dip lower. Lower still.”

Will’s mouth drops open. His cock hardens in anticipation as his hand strays lower. 

“What do you want, Will? What do you want to do?”

Will can’t keep his breath slow and deep any more. “I want to...to…” he lets slip a little moan. “I want to touch myself…” 

“Not yet,” Hannibal says, his voice husky. “Not yet. Feel your desire building. Let it fill you. Let it lift you. Let it carry you.” 

“Please,” Will whispers. His hand slips lower, fingers stretching, trembling, toward his aching cock. 

“Reach down and brush your fingertips along your shaft.”

Will whimpers as his fingers make contact. 

“Keep touching like that. Light fingers. Gentle strokes. Go on like that. Just like that, Will.” 

Will listens to Hannibal’s breathing, suddenly audible. He begins to sweat.

“Wrap your fingers around your shaft, now, and stroke the head of your cock with your thumb.”

Will complies with a moan, his back arching. 

“Mm,” Hannibal groans. “Yes, just like that, Will. Just like that. Keep going.” Breath coming faster. Harder. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to jerk off so bad…”

“Slowly. Do it slowly. Long strokes, from deep at the base of your shaft, all the way to the head of your cock.”

Will gives a long moan at the first stroke. Grips tight and continues to pump with agonizing slowness. 

“Yes,” Hannibal moans, and Will loses his control, begins stroking himself with furious abandon. “Yes.” Louder, this time. 

Will’s legs writhe, tangling in the bedclothes as he builds toward climax. He and Hannibal trade moans back and forth, an erotic call-and-response that drives Will to a dizzied frenzy. Finally, a long moan boils out from deep in his belly, and cum spills down over his fingers.

In the afterglow, he hears Hannibal panting into the phone. Hears the panting gain speed and depth, reach a fever pitch, stutter out into a satisfied groan. 

Will lies on the bed, just listening to Hannibal breathe. Feeling his own breathing return to normal. Feeling his pulse still thundering in his throat, his face, all the way to his fingers and toes. Feeling a lightness buoy his whole being. 

“Will?” Soft. Languorous. “Are you still there?”

Will blinks lazily. “Yeah, I’m still here.” 

“Good.” Hannibal gives a long sigh. “Was that good for you?”

Will sits up slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, it was really good.”

“I’m glad. It was good for me, too.” 

“So...what do we do now?” Will asks. 

“Now that we have gotten away with this,” Hannibal says, “we make arrangements to be alone together soon, and find out what else we can get away with.”


End file.
